The Haunted, Legend of Herobrine: Demons Within
by Kyromatronix
Summary: What started it all was a deal with Herobrine. Now, far into the future, the team must learn from Collin's mistake. As backstories unfold and secrets are revealed, can Armen, Drake and Grayson learn to do the impossible and control the supernatural? Or will they subcumb to the most dangerous threat out there; their own demons? A RejectedShotgun's The Haunted fanfic. DISCONTINUED.
1. Chapter 1: Grounded

Armen was as free as a bird.

Before this whole experience, he had never seen death as a pleasant idea. But now, it was incognizant paradise. No more watching, seeing, hearing, fighting, killing, screaming, hurting...just floating, dreaming, being nothing at all; a thought, floating away on the breeze.

It was numb.

Although it was nice, his predicament had a couple drawbacks. Whenever he wanted to feel concerned, or mad, or want to move even the tiniest bit, the urge grew wings and fluttered out of his hands as easily as water would slip between his fingers. Any other human might find this frightening and restrictive, like a type of dark paralysis. But, for Armen, whose physical and mental conditions had both been on the brink, this was the best thing that had ever happened to him. So, he just stuck to the simplest of thoughts and drifted in lazy circles. He thought about anything that came to mind. He sang to himself; it was gibberish nonsense, most of the time. He simply immersed himself in a dark, warm, cozy blanket of peaceful nothingness. For how long, he didn't know. Didn't care. Couldn't care.

" _ **Do you see it?..."**_

Armen stopped in the middle of 'Everybody's Got A Water Buffalo'. He composed his freelance thoughts. _"Who said that?"_ he thought. He was pretty sure he was alone in the expanse of darkness he dwelled in.

" _ **Do you hear it?..."**_

" _Who's here?"_ Armen shuddered. The voice was dark, cold, and held wisdom beyond him, like that one odd kid at school who always sat by themselves and never said anything relevant. _"Heh...kinda like Drake. Wonder where he is…"_

" _ **You feel it."**_

D-did it just… _"Okaaaaay, that's not creepy at all...heheheh..."_

" _ **You sense it."**_

Someone...no, some **thing** was with him. The entity was right about one thing; Armen felt something near him. Something...old. Older than time itself. Ominous, deep...and hungering for something…so ravenous that, for one moment, Armen was terrified that it would eat him. Then he remembered that he wasn't alive, so that wouldn't happen.

Or maybe it co...nah.

" _ **But, forward-walker…"**_

" ' _Forward-walker?' "_

 _ **"...Can you perceive it?"**_

Something cold gripped his mind, something cold...and solid.

Next thing he knew, the entity seized him, drew him close to his dark presence, and manifested its own eyes. Dark, swirling, garnet-violet eyes, coated in a layer of red hatred that burned like acid.

 _ **"But who can perceive...what cannot be understood?"**_

 _ **"None, ARMEN."**_

 _ **"None."**_

And then, it did the impossible.

It dropped him.

He fell down..

And down…

And down…

And down…

And down…

...through the Void.

He had done this before…

But that didn't make it any more bearable.

Vertigo and adrenaline coursed through him. Fingers froze and eyes glazed into existence. Shards of ice splintered into his veins. Cold wind forced its way into his throat and forced him to gasp. Frost covered him, freezing his conscience to stillness and binding it in glass chains. He strained to scream, forcing his lungs to use the freezing air inside his grounded form. A breath formed in his throat, then a moan, then a growl, then a shout, then a murderous hail that resounded in his mind and made his underused hearing explode in pain.

Armen fell...and screamed...and froze...and breathed...and **became** …

And smacked into solid ground. Hard.

His heart pounded like a kick drum.

His hands shook.

His eyes closed.

And he fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

The first thing Armen woke up to...was pain.

 _ **Ow**_ _._

And a lot of it.

 **Everything** hurt. Every fiber in his body was sore, stinging, or felt like it was on fire.

 _ **Ow**_ _._

 _Wait...if I'm feeling pain, then…_

 _I'm_ _ **alive**_ _!_

 _ **Ow**_ _._

 _Yeah, that-that's great._

 _Real great. God, I feel like I was run over by a semi._

 _ **Ow**_ _._

 _Is someone carrying me?_

 _ **Ow**_ _._

 _Yyyyyyep. And I'm slung over_ _ **that**_ _person's shoulder like a potato sack._

 _ **Ow**_ _._

 _...I can't think._

 _ **Ow**_ _._

 _Too much information._

 _Too loud. Too painful._

 _ **Ow**_ _._

 _...Where the heck am I?_

Armen slowly opened his heavy lids, which took way more effort than it should have. At first, his eyes couldn't conceive anything; blurry flashes of light, dark, green, brown, and pink were all he could make out. However, like the lens on a camera, his vision focused into detail. Burry green slowly focused into an ocean of emerald grass, and chocolate brown morphed into leather hiking boots that sported silver tongues that could've been made of actual metal. His eyes were also struck with intense brightness that his previous location had lacked entirely.

 _ **BRIGHT**_ _! Holy—brihihihight…_

 _ **Ow**_ _._

Armen squinted, his eyes unused to the blinding rays. However, he soon got over it and opened them almost all the way. The boots were attached to a pair of striding legs with dark, copper-colored pants and silver knee pads over them. Over that was a leaf-green jacket with leather trimmings.

 _Who the h—_

 _ **Ow**_.

He tried talking to his carrier, to ask for a name or inquire about what was happening, but he only succeeded in releasing a breath he didn't know he was holding.

 _ **Ow**_ _._

 _Wow._

 _I have_ _ **seriously**_ _forgotten how to guy._

 _ **Ow**_ _._

Armen started squirming, his body flushing with heat as blood surged through his veins. His carrier did not expect this, and quickly tried readjusting their footing to cope with him. When it didn't help, they tried readjusting their grip. This didn't help either, and Armen soon slipped out of their hands, squirmed his way off their shoulder, and faceplanted into the green grass, which was also icy cold.

He whimpered quietly. He didn't remember living being this unbearable. Actually...yes, he did.

He put his arms under him and attempted to push himself upright. Bad idea. He underestimated the strength of his arms, and ended up smacking back into the ground, and accomplished nothing.

There was a shuffling sound next to him, and something tugged at his leather stash puerilely.

"You alright?"

His eyes snapped open. Did he know that voice? Armen looked up as best he could without moving. A head with smooth blonde hair and a pair of sparkling eyes was watching him with interest. _Is that...Grayson?_ He squinted as the image came into focus. Nope; It was a girl, with shiny, geranium-pink eyes that reflected the light, different from Grayson's hard, steely emerald ones. Her curly blonde hair, which was up in a ponytail, was also paler in shade, and had pink highlights on the ends. What was oddest about her were her ears. Pronounced and pointed, with blue stud earrings embedded in them.

 _Do I know her?...she looks kinda familiar…._

"Hellooo?"

Armen realized he was staring. "W-whatzz…" He failed to finish the sentence because A. His vocal cords stung like nuts, and B. He ran out of breath. Man, he had taken habitual breathing for granted until now…

The elf-eared girl knelt down and looked at him, her golden TriForce necklace swinging limply around her neck. _TriFo..Legend of Zelda? What?!_ _ **What**_ _?!_ Her brow furrowed. "You okay, Armen?"

How did she know his name? He took a large breath, which oddly unnatural, like he was swallowing a water balloon whole, and croaked, "W-who are y-you…?." He cringed at how raspy his voice was.

"I'm Mia," she stated, grinning slightly and poking his nose with a gloved hand. "And you, Squirmy, are Armen."

"Y-yeah, that s-sounds...about r-right…'Squirmy?'"

Mia shrugged. "Eh...seemed fitting. Need help getting up?"

Armen considered his condition. He was physically weak. His muscles couldn't hold, and he doubted he could get up on his own. He was practically helpless. He gazed into her pretty fuchsia orbs. "Yeah."

Mia promptly grabbed his grip-glove-covered hand, which was lying limp in front of his face. She yanked him upright, with Armen trying to hold his own weight to help her. His legs shook, but he got upright and standing.

"Oi, you don't weigh anything," Mia stated definitely. Armen wobbled, his legs threatening to give way at any moment.

"You got it?" Mia inquired.

"Y-yeah, I...I think so." Armen stuttered, then gulped for needed air. It was dry and cold, and didn't seem to give him the oxygen he needed. He was in the middle of a forest; viridescent, tall, and ancient, the huge, dark-brown trunks looming over him like sentinels. Little beams of sunlight weaved through gaps in the foliage and caressed his nose and face, and a sea of green grass swarmed around his silver and black boots. It was verdantly serene.

His knees buckled without warning, and he would've fallen if Mia hadn't grabbed him by his collar.

"Woah woah woah. Alright," Mia said quickly. "Let's do this **slowly…** " She pulled him upright (choking him slightly, but he didn't complain), and supported him by slinging his arm over her shoulder, her steel shoulderguards digging into his underarm. "You alright?"

"Y-yeah…"

Mia looked slightly relieved. "Okay" she sighed. "...let's try this again."

She stepped forward, and he followed her move; right leg in front, left foot in front, right, left, right, left...it didn't take long for Armen to be able to walk again. He slowly started supporting himself, lifting his weight off Mia, and started walking on his own.

"You—that was fast," she stated as he lifted off of her completely. He felt instantly shaky and nauseous, and had to stand still for a moment before taking a couple slow, daunting steps on his own, shuffling through the green grass. They walked in silence for a time; Armen completely focused on breathing and walking, Mia going slow as to not leave him behind and lost in her own thoughts.

Armen finally broke the ice. "Hey, M-mia…"

Mia was half-listening. "Yeah?"

"Do y-you by any chance know an e-ender hybrid?"

Her head snapped up quickly. She turned to him, interested. "Hm?"

"Blue sh-shirt, brown hair, distracted h-half the time, kinda mental?"

"You mean Drake?" she questioned eagerly.

"You do?"

Mia grinned, her pink eyes lighting up. "Yeah!"

Armen was overjoyed. "D-do you know where he is?" he asked eagerly.

The grin faded. Mia looked forward and down, the pink curls that were loose from the pony waving slightly. Her face was downcast. "I used to. We...got separated some time ago…"

"Oh…" Armen's smile disappeared as well. "So,...whe—YIPE!"

A small, furry flash of orange burst out of the trees and knocked Armen to the ground, burying its face in his torn, burnt grey jacket and knocking the wind out of him. Soft, warm fuzz tickled his face. Little pointy ears flopped backwards. Shiny silver eyes locked to his cyan aqua irises. A throbbing purr filled the air.

A orange, black, and tan kitten, which held a striking resemblance to a feline version of Growlithe, licked his nose.

Armen's heart melted. "Aww…" The kitten lifted a tiny tan paw and swatted at the black, curly locks which fell over his forehead, making little "Yeawrawr" noises as it did so. He smiled; kittens had always been a soft spot for him.

"Cairago!"

The kit lifted its head to Mia, who had called it. It took one last snuggle at Armen, leapt off his chest and trotted up to Mia's heels loyally. She stroked its head affectionately as Armen got back up.

"Sorry about that...he just gets excited at times," Mia apologized. Cairago, on the other hand, did not show even the slightest bit of regret, swishing his tan fluffy tail coolly and pounding his paws softly on the ground in excitement. Armen didn't regret it either; even though his rear and back hurt now, and that cat was **WAY** heavier than it should've been, he had gotten kittencuddles…

Cairago yipped at Mia, then sprinted away with a burst of energy. _Wait...is he a_ _ **dog**_ _or a_ _ **cat**_ _?..._ Armen thought. The furball skidded to a halt and turned back to them, noticing that they weren't following, and made a sound that was a mixture of a bark and a meow; "Breowh…"

Armen was somewhat amused. _Huh. Both._

Mia, without a moment of hesitation, trotted after the kitten excitedly. Armen followed a little slower; even though he was now breathing alright and could talk, he still not trust his legs enough to run. Cairago would dash forward, turn around, and run back to them, yapping loudly, then would dash back forward again, in a frantic, somewhat fruitless, cycle. After a minute, Armen asked where they were going.

"We're headed to an elvish city, not far from here," Mia replied casually.

"What's it called?" he asked.

"It's—um…Al-re...ma-rye...uh...Erm…" She trailed off, seemingly uncertain. Suddenly, she started laughing at herself. "I'm sorry. I can't pronounce it!" she apologized, her shoulders shaking in amusement.

Armen smirked. "Well if you can't, I p-probably won't be able to either, so let's leave it at that." He looked ahead, expecting to see Cairago return from his last loop, but the striped feline was nowhere to be seen. "Uh, where'd Cairago go?"

Mia composed herself and glanced around. "I don't know. He ran ahead." She caught her breath, then sighed as Cairago jumped out of the foliage in front of them. Except this time, he brought a friend. A darker haired elf, taller than Mia, with hazel brown eyes and freckles like his hastened up to follow Cairago. Catching sight of Mia, she waved, and Mia jogged over and gave her a hug. The little kitten ignored Mia almost completely, scampering through her legs and attacked Armen's black boots ferociously, swatting at them and biting them. He then jumped on them and hugged Armen's slightly-burnt sienna pants. Armen, in turn, fluffed the tan fuzz atop its head and neck. Cairago purred passionately.

What a wonderful relationship they had created.

The girls soon broke up their hug. Mia stuck out her right hand in front of her in an L. The dark-haired friend did the same, touching the back of her hand to the back of Mia's in an apparent greeting.

" _Taishaeo_ , Mayadriel," she said friendly.

" _Taishaeo_ , Rallechal," Mia replied.

Armen looked up from the loving Growlithe kitten. _'Mayadriel'?_

The two elves took their hands apart. Rallechal hit Mia lightly on the side of the head. "You reckless girl, you, running off without telling anyone. I've been searching for you for like an hour."

"Well, sorry," Mia replied sarcastically, putting her hands on her hips in mock sass. "I didn't think anyone would miss me!"

Rallechal rubbed the edge of her brown jacket, much like Mia's, between her fingers and shook her head. "Mia, of course I missed you! I can tell when you're gone, you know. What were you doing anyway?"

Armen went back to petting Cairago between the ears.

"Okay," Mia began, "So, I was wandering around, considering if I should get lunch, when I noticed the deer—you know, the ones on the outskirts of the village—were all high strung. So I decided to go look closer."

"Typical," Rallechal muttered, adjusting her white undershirt and quiver.

Mia looked at her funny. "What?"

"Nothing."

The blonde elf paused a moment more, then shrugged it off and continued her little rant. "But when I approached, they all ran away! Like, **poof**! Gone! But it wasn't from me. They were fleeing from something else, in the woods."

"And let me guess; you went to check it out?"

"Yep."

"Alright, and what did you fi-i…" Rallechal trailed off. Armen looked up to find that she was staring over Mia's shoulder, fixed on something behind him. He turned around, hand still on Cairago, to see what she was looking at...nope, nothing interesting besides trees and grass. He turned back around to ask what she was looking at.

A knife flew towards his face.

He instinctively pitched to the side to avoid the razor-sharp slice of metal. But as fast as he was, the wielder was faster; The knife still slashed through his cheek. He staggered backwards, surprised and stunned. Hazel eyes flashed, and the knife drew back to stab him again. Armen, knowing he was no match, tensed up for the blow and shielded his face.

Mia stopped Rallechal by grabbing her left arm.

" **Woah**! What the heck, Rachel? **STOP IT**!"

Rachel didn't listen. Cariago, torn between two options, started baying and running in circles frantically. Armen scampered as well; scampered backwards away from the brunette elf with murder in her chocolate eyes.

"Rallechal! He's a friend!"

Rachel turned around. "He's The Man From The Statues!" she screamed. "He is **NOT** a friend!"

" _The Man From The Statues"?...Oh...she means the statues that He left in the villages...villages...people…people burning...the smell of smoke and burning flesh...death...darkness..._ Armen stopped thinking, putting his mind on lockdown and focusing only on what was in front of him. Rachel was calming down, Mia was still scared that her friend would try something...drastic.

Armen untensed somewhat, straightening up and lowering his hands. Cariago, no longer scared out of his wits, walked between him and the elves and sat down, looking very brave and defiant.

"Rachel, woah! He's not going to hurt you **or** me!"

"But..." Rachel sounded uncertain. She lowered her knife. "Isn't he...I've seen one of the statues, and he looks just like him...except for the eyes are a bit different…"

Armen looked at the ground. "It's complicated…" he said timidly.

Rachel seemed surprised that he had spoken up. "Um, okay...how complicated is 'complicated'?"

" **Very** complicated," Mia answered from the back, still holding Rachel's arm. She sounded dead serious, as if wishing to kill the matter with only the tone of her voice. Rachel backed down, putting her iron knife back into her leather sheath at her belt, the tip still shiny and red with blood.

"We'll explain later. For now, let's get back before dark."

Armen's cut throbbed, and his heart pumped.

 _She was going to kill me._

* * *

 _"It-It's a very beautiful place. Imagine, like, structures, hanging—like treehouses,_ _ **massive**_ _tree houses!"_

 _The hybrid looked intrigued. "Ooh…" His gaze got a little distant, as if going there in his mind._

 _"It's amazing."_

 _The young siamese kitten licked his paws and continued to watch. Two men, one in a blue shirt and one in a leather jacket and green shirt, towered over him, geared up with backpacks, rugged adventurers. The elf, in a pink and brown coat with bracers and a ponytail, smiled. "Yeah. I love my hometown. It's, like…"_

 _The shorter man walked over and looked at the feline funny, his blond hair a lot longer than the cat had remembered. Seeing the she-elf's food, he shot past the green-eyed traveler and started climbing one of the wooden chairs._

 _"Uh, you can keep talking," the blond man stated, "I'm going to get us a room."_

 _The blue-eyed cat leapt onto the table and started helping itself to the elf's small sandwiches, which were stuffed with a type of lettuce and slices of of bacon; not because it was hungry, but to cause mischief. And it was_ _ **bacon**_ _, for goodness sake! The ender hybrid thought otherwise, and tried to push him away._

 _"Cat, get_ _ **out**_ _of here..._ _ **cat**_ _!"_

 _The feline ignored him...until the magenta and white eyed man slapped his rear! The siamese jumped off the table and ran to the other side of the inn, spooked by the person. Still, after a bit, the cat gathered its wits, sprinted up to the elf girl, leapt up to the plate of sandwiches, stuffed them all in his mouth, and stepped off, feeling an simple smugness arise in his chest._

 _He hid under a table and devoured them quickly, enjoying the variety of leafy greens, crunchy meat, and soft bread. He didn't need the food, but it was delicious, nonetheless. When he was done, he saw that the blond man was ordering more sandwiches. More bacon! He followed him back and, right after the human sat down and put the plate back on the table, the siamese jumped up, grabbed the sandwiches in one bite, and dashed back to under his table. He stuffed his muzzle with the stolen food, then, feeling rather full, licked his chops and paws._

 _He knew the men. The girl was unknown. He wasn't sure why he was here. Just that he need to cause some mischief. And who knows; perhaps then they would do something...recognizable. Out of the ordinary._

 _Perhaps then the kitten would know._

* * *

"Treehouses" was an understatement. The houses were a **part** of the tree, as if they had grown them of their own free will. They sat right below the canopy, far above their heads; the walls were make of the trunk, the roof was made of leaves, and the floors were made out of woven branches. They blended in, dangling ropes of naturally-woven vines providing the only way up. Tiny glowing lights, more like hand-held suns than flame, lit up the surrounding woods in the dimming dusk. A chilly breeze wafted in from the north and into his hair. The little elven village was settling down for sleep under the awakening stars.

Cariago yipped happily. Mia spread her arms out wide, as to give it all a hug.

"Welcome, Armen, to our world."

Rachel finished her thoughts.

"Welcome to _Ayremagalra_."


	2. Chapter 2: Uncertain

It was a beautiful day. Birds chirping, sun shining, and wind being a douchebag and blowing leaves in Grayson's face. It tugged at his hat and blew it off his head, sending it tumbling into the trees behind him. Grayson spun and groped after it, but it was already gone.

He sighed. He wasn't turning around just to get that back. He swore the wind was laughing at him as it bit at his face, stinging his already smarting cheeks and nose. He shuddered, pulling in his leather jacket tightly. He knew it was near winter, but it was ridiculously cold. The former commander wasn't one to complain, but he still wished he had his Arctic snow gear, or at least an **actual** winter jacket.

A swarm of leaves broke free from their branches and proceeded to attack his face. Grayson swatted them away, fuming slightly. The little orange and green leaves were everywhere, accumulating slowly in a thin layer over the grass. At least it wasn't snowing...yet. Winter was about to close in; food would be harder to find. Shelter would be a necessity, not something that you could look over if you couldn't find any. Frostbite would be possibility, not just a concern.

And he'd seen enough snow in his lifetime, thank you very much.

He scuffed and kicked a couple leaves, feeling childish.

 _ **Why aren't you getting your hat?**_

Grayson stopped mid scuff. He always stopped when he heard that voice; it surprised him every single time. It was a girl's voice; sweet, quiet, but holding wisdom that he knew, without a doubt, that he lacked. He put his foot down and slid his backpack off his shoulder, setting it gently on the ground. He then opened it up and groped inside; _Pickaxe, meat, marques,..okaaaay, not quite sure what_ _ **that**_ _was,...pickaxe again, berries, maps_ ― _Ah_ _ **ah**_ _!_

He plunged both hands into the mess of his backpack and grasped something heavy, plated, and warm. He pulled it out, arms shaking slightly, and set it in the leaves and grass in front of him. Shiny and black with purple splotches, and about the size of a football, Grayson studied the most sought-after possession of Minecraftia―The Dragon Egg. He placed his palms on it. It hummed and vibrated, like there was a tiny machine hidden inside it. It was alive; alive and blooming.

 _ **Emerald, get your hat! It's getting away!**_

 _Eh? Emerald?_ He looked up. And did not see his mercenary hat anywhere. Or any emeralds, for that matter...He took a deep breath, concentrated, and thought as hard as he could, _It's out of sight. There's no getting it back._

 _ **HAT!**_

He winced and, almost unwillingly, jumped up and started running in the direction his mercenary hat went. Another thing about the voice; it was **very** convincing. Heaven knows why that hat was so important, but she definitely thought it was worthy of his time. Besides, he wasn't going to disobey a dragon, even if it hadn't hatched yet.

But even though she was the most powerful magic beast in existence, there was still a part of him that resented her being around. Beside being very powerful (and sometimes loud―mentally, of course) in nature, she also had a huge sense of pride that accompanied dragonkind, and she thought that, because he was a stupid, non-magical human, Grayson should obey her every command. He didn't mind getting a hat, but she had been...bossy lately.

If she wasn't so important, Grayson could rattle that egg until she begged for mercy.

Actually...no, he wouldn't. She was just in a bad mood, like he was; his emotion of frustration and confusion may have been rubbing on her. She was acting worse than normal. Then again, she was untamed. But she usually was a lot more... **considerate** , even when her train of thought was so powerful, it interrupted his movement.

* * *

 _ **Emerald, be wary. Danger is imminent. Great evil. Stay safe. Keep your eyes open**_ _._

 _ **Also, be careful of Drake. I sense something lurking in him. Something that does not belong in him.**_

 _Grayson walked outside, feeling the cold wind on his face and soothe the burns on his side._

 _ **Take care.**_

"Grayson? Are you alright?"

 _The former commander was vaguely aware that Drake was talking to him. He shook his head and turned. The tall ender hybrid was staring at him, his eyes glistening with curiosity. Grayson must've zoned out, fully immersed in the dragon's voice._

 _He gave the mage a small smile and walked back into the worn stone structure in the mountainside. At least Drake couldn't hear her voice. "Yeah. Sorry, sorry, I was just...thinking. Sorry."_

* * *

He stopped running and looked around, snapped out of his own head. How far had he gone? He saw dark oak trees, emerald grass, shrubbery, and a mercenary hat, conveniently stuck in between a fork in a branch.

He smiled. _Glad I didn't miss it._

He half jogged, half walked up to the trunk, looking straight up at his hat, which seemed to taunt him from above. He froze. He wasn't a good tree climber. Sure, vines, brick walls, rickety ladders, even cliffs he could do, but a thick mass of branches and suffocating foliage? Not his finesse. Ignoring his doubts, he grabbed a thick-looking low branch and started hauling himself up.

 _Why would she want a hat this bad?_ He smacked his head on a branch. _Ow!_ He raised a free hand and ruffled his thick, blond hair. _Well, the reason had better be good._ He continued up the tree for what seemed like forever, his jacket getting caught on every branch possible, until he came to the branch where his hat was. Slowly, ever so slowly, he inched his way onto the tree's barky limb and towards his prize with the feather in it, feeling the wood scrape his fingers and the branch bend beneath his weight.

 _Please don't break_...he prayed as he shimmied within arm's reach of the hat. His fingers brushed the brim. He sucked in a breath, lurched forward, and snatched the hat out of the fork.

"Yeah!" he shouted aloud. The leather hat, brown with a red feather in it, he held firmly in his hand. Why the dragon had wanted it so bad, he didn't know, but he hoped it would put her in a better mood.

Suddenly, the branch slipped from under him, and the world tilted in a crazy one-eighty spin. Grayson's instincts took hold, and he grasped the branch, ignoring the painful scrapes that stung his hands and forearms. He did the same with his legs, which were already in a similar position. His eyes clamped shut.

Gravity made up it's mind and settled down. _Don't tell me…_ Grayson slowly opened his eyes.

He was hanging upside down in a sloth position, clinging to the branch for dear life.

For a moment, the blond was relieved. He hadn't smacked into the ground. The hand that was grabbing the branch must've given out, while his other arm was holding the hat, which was all but crumpled in his grip. He smiled, glad he hadn't lost it again. However, the grin soon faded as a problem arose in his mind. He looked down/up at the ground.

 _Umm..._

 _How do I get down?_

* * *

Grayson stopped walking only when the sun went down and he could barely see his glove-covered hand in front of his own face. Using some dry wood he scavenged and his flint and steel, he managed to get a small fire going, and scooted up close to it. He also took out the black and violet dragon egg from his backpack and set it close to the flames, something he did only with Drake and Mia around. It seemed to please her, and she drifted into a sleep-like state of mind, her train of thought slowing and almost halting, though he could still sense a couple things from her. Grayson, however, couldn't sleep, despite how tired he was from the day's trek.

He rubbed his still-sore shoulder. His fall had **not** been pretty, but at least he hadn't broken any limbs.

A gust of wind seeped through his jacket, and he shivered, scooting up closer to the fire. He could practically see his breath. He huffed. Correction; he **could** see his breath.

He growled and shifted through his backpack, searching for a distraction of any kind. Maps? No...they were kinda useless, since he had next to no landmarks to go off of. Berries?...eh, why not? He grabbed a handful of raspberries from a pouch and put them up to his mouth.

 _ **Uh-uh.**_

He almost dropped the berries. She was **watching** him? And, even worse, she was telling him "no midnight snacks, it's your bedtime"? Why was he obeying her again? Seething, he put away the berries and rummaged around, feeling the conscious weight of the dragon on his mind.

His fingers brushed something, round, cold, and smooth. _Huh?_ He grasped the small object, which was about the size of a penny, and held it up to his face. A gold ring, engraved with tiny emerald studs, glinted in the firelight. It was heavy from the weight of painful memories.

He swallowed hard. His chest tightened. He stuffed it back in his bag hurriedly, unable to look at the gold trinket any longer. But the damage was already done.

 _I killed them._

He laid back down.

 _Dead. They are dead. All of them._

His eyes stung.

 _I killed them._

 _Tabithia and Arden...they died because of my actions._

He tightened his fists.

 _Even Armen gave himself up…_

 _ **Who's Armen?**_

No. No, no, no, no. He didn't want to share. He didn't want to tell. So he stayed silent.

 _ **...Well? You've never explained to me who he is.**_

…

…

 _...A friend._

 _The young dragon was still curious._ _ **He seems like more than that.**_

 _Well...yeah._

 _ **Could you tell me?**_

He considered it. To tell her what ailed him. But no. She was a dragon. Not a human. A magical being. She had convinced him to help her.

And because of that, his family was dead.

 _No._

Then, Grayson promptly sealed his mind, curled up in his worn jacket, and fell asleep.

* * *

 _ **Look, Emerald.**_

 _ **Wonder, Emerald.**_

 _ **Dream, Emerald.**_

 _ **What do you see?**_

* * *

The cavern was silent; not a single living thing was inside it. Obsidian, which had once flowed freely from the interior of the mountain, was now frozen solid. Shards of wood, metal, and stone poked out of the dark stone, as if grasping for a breath of air. Ash and snow mixed together as wind from the volcano's vent swirled through the room. Lone snowflakes fell with rays of sunlight from high above. The only sound that could be heard was the faint howl of the breeze.

In a corner of the debris, the air was sucked in, along with a handful of ash. Then, it was suddenly expelled back out _vvv-berf_ sound that echoed throughout the collapsed caverns. Little orchid particles surrounded the enderman. Its large, magenta eyes darted about to take in the mess; Snow upon ash upon obsidian upon a mountainful of destroyed knowledge and magical treasures. He didn't care about the artifacts; they were the trifles of humans, not Ender. However, there was one magical relic that he was here for.

The dark-skinned beast scanned the area, searching for any magical signature similar to his own. Magic traces. Yes. He had been here. But not recently. A frustration welled up in him, but he calmed himself before his anger got out of control. He had found him once, no, twice before. He would find him again.

He kept looking, searching for magic. Ender magic. He shambled forward, barely lifting his bird-like feet from the jagged obsidian flooring and letting its arms hang limp in front of him as he walked. It had to be here…

Through the jumble of signatures, ashy-snow, and debris, he caught wind of something...powerful. Regarded by mages and sorcerers as useless because they could not use it. But, contrarily, a source of mana that had long been lost to space and time.

There. Amid a pile of collapsed stones from the ceiling. He teleported over to the pile, and started lifting them away, using his large hands and claw-embedded fingers to toss away the rubble like it was styrofoam. A tiny piece of glass, perhaps crystal of a sort, stuck out of the obsidian.

The enderman's magenta eyes lit up like glowstone. Yes. Yes, it was here. What happened next is difficult to explain, and even harder to wrap the mind around. The obsidian around the shard of glass rippled like water. The uneven surface collapsed and flattened in a smooth circle around the submerged object. It was on the verge of reflective, like an igneous puddle. The enderman, almost carelessly, plunged his large paws into the unnatural pool. It fumbled a bit, then grasped something.

A large gem, encased in clear crystal, was pulled out of the rock. It was large, at least a meter in diameter, but as light as a balloon filled with helium. It hung above the enderman's paws as he lifted it up. The center gem was a perfect cube shape, with red runes scribbled on each smooth face, and it was tinted a vibrant purple. The glassy diamond layer on the outside was also a square shape, but was made of two interjoined individual glass cubes.

The enderman, so close to hope, was almost shaking with anticipation. _**Please be alive...please...**_ he whispered to none. He closed his large eyes and gave it a tiny thread of mana, hoping to kickstart the relic with a bit of his lifeforce.

 _ **Please...please work…**_

The crystal remained silent.

 _ **Please…**_

Cold.

 _ **Please...**_

Dead.

But wait.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the central cube started to glow. It hummed a heartbeat-like melody. The two glass casings shifted, then separated, the started rotating through each other in a way that shouldn't be possible.

The enderman's pointed ears fluttered.

The last Ender Crystal in existence.

And it was alive.

 _ **Thank you, brother.**_ Jaidzem whispered. _**Soon, I will tell you everything...**_

 _ **Shautgor.**_


	3. Chapter 3: Caught

Nighttime: a time when the earth turns dark, ominous, and becomes full of opportunities. Well, opportunities for a lost assassin who was failing miserably at his job.

Luke stepped over a fallen branch and kept walking. His eyes didn't strain in the darkness, for he had night vision that most men lacked. The woods didn't push him away, the trees didn't close in, the darkness didn't suffocate him in blinding ropes. He belonged in the dark. He had found a liking to it in his years; years of different jobs, scenarios, and faces all mashed into one.

A handfull of leaves tickled his face, which was partially covered by a gray and black scarf and penguin hat. He brushed the foliage away like it was a frisky pet. Navigating the woods on the ground was a bit tricky, even if you stuck to the path.

He pushed another tree limb aside, only to have it swing back and whap his face cockily. He yelped and shielded his face, his cheeks stinging. Then he pushed it back again, more carefully this time, to get through. For a trained, lethal hunter, he was a little bit... **inept** with other things.

A twig caught the bandage on his right arm. He tugged it away.

A bush with odd colors splashed amidst it caught a pair of mismatched orange and blue eyes. Luke spun and saw blueberries, the navy hue making dark spots among the green leaves. He half-dashed over and knelt down, confirming that they really were blueberries. He then removed the scarf from his mouth and started popping handfuls into his mouth, enjoying the somewhat sour flavor. The lost assassin was running alarmingly low on provisions from the past couple weeks, and any extra food was welcome.

He stripped the twigs clean of berries, then returned to the gravel trail. Following it, he soon stumbled across an old campsite and a sign.

Uldin

Mortem →

Mortem? The last he had heard of that place was that it was destroyed by a fiery imp from the Nether. No, thank you. But Uldin...wasn't it destroyed too? Or was it just evacuated? Luke considered his options; raid one of the destroyed villages, which may still be plagued with demonic personalities or cultists, continue wandering pointlessly until he either found a lead or collapsed, or return to the Empire in shame, either to be stripped of his title or punished severely.

In Luke's opinion, the insurgent Emperor had a demon himself. So he chose the first.

He decided to head to Mortem, as it was destroyed a longer time ago, and it was much closer. A quick turn right on the gravel road, and the ruins soon came into sight.

It was better, and worse, than he'd expected. Destroyed wooden buildings, scattered cobblestone, and broken glass was all that was left of the settlement. The scent of ash and iron lingered in the air, which barely filtered through Luke's black scarf. The entire area had somehow sunk into the earth, the top layer of soil giving away to solid rock. Luke had to pretty much parkour from ruin to ruin, praying that he wouldn't slip and fall into the huge craters below and possibly snap his neck. Good thing he knew what he was doing.

Luke jumped agilely over a gap in the ground and landed on the half-dead grass. A shiver went up his spine. He didn't like the feel of this place. He was going to get in and get out as soon as possible.

The first house didn't reap anything useful. A knife, a shattered plate, a cracked bottle, and some spoiled apples, not even possibly edible. The second house gave him a swiftness potion, and some carrots, which were on the brink of bad, but that he scarfed down anyways. The third house gave him a nasty surprise; a secret room made of Netherrack containing a sacrificial altar and an armor set made of...Luke hoped he was wrong, but flesh? He had almost thrown up at the sight. He left the partially collapsed house shaken and nauseated.

Which probably explains why he missed his next jump.

He hit the hard stone arm-first, and a nasty crack sounded as it was crushed. He winced and sat up slowly, moving his right arm as little as possible. Any movement sent fiery lightning coursing through his limb.

He slowed his breathing. _Calm down, Lukas. It's just a broken limb. Look around._ He was at the bottom of the hollow, about seven feet down, on cold stone. He couldn't see much else in the weak moonlight. But he thought he saw a mound of stones in the center of the hole.

He walked over, not daring to even twitch his arm. That mound of rock was oddly human-shaped…He crept closer. It was a statue, not mound! Luke could easily make out arms, legs, a sword, and a face. The nearer he got, the more lifelike it seemed. He wasn't much of an artist, but wow. Every ripple and tear in the fabric, every wisp of hair, every individual finger...even the eyes were perfectly-

Hold it. He looked even closer at the eyes. The one on the right was near perfect, with a detailed iris and dark hole of a pupil. The one on the left, however, had none detail at all. No iris, no pupil. Perfectly vacuous.

He had seen that statue, that person, those eyes, before. But where?

* * *

 _A clap of thunder, a flash of lightning._

 _The assassin narrowed his eyes. His target, a large figure, stopped and turned, talking to his friend. He couldn't make out the words through the loud rain, but it was a distraction._

 _Positioning himself on the tree branch, he aimed his bow and arrow, loaded with a poison that would slow the brain's reception and result in eventual paralysis. Not a fatal toxin, but close._

 _He breathed in, breathed out, and focused his sights on the commander's friend._

 _He would not miss._

 _The arrow hit its mark. The figure stumbled back, bleeding. One down. The assassin catapulted from the tree, landed softly, and launched himself into a insanely fast charge. The hybrid pushed out of the way, and the other man stumbled backwards, hoping to put in distance, but stepped on the edge of the river instead. He wasn't escaping._

 _The assassin drew his iron blade, which bore a strange resemblance to the commander's weapon, and attacked mercilessly. The blond's green eyes held recognition, and was barely able to block the oncoming assault. Swords clashed in a flurry of violet and gray, and they danced back and forth on the river's bank._

 _The offender was reluctant, but determined. Murder would be avoided. Paralysis would ensue. The Prize would be claimed._

 _But no. With his back to the commander, the assassin saw something. Something odd enough to make him lower his guard and allow himself to be slashed across the shoulder. A man...watching...standing in the rain, one eye as blue as the water falling down and the other as white as the lightning above._

 _The observer, his face clear of emotion, put out his hands...and flung the two swordsmen into the river behind._

* * *

Luke reeled back. For a fleeting moment, he was terrified that the statue was the real thing, and that it would attack him. However, his wits soon returned, and then he was more confused than anything.

 _Why would a statue that..._ _ **person**_ _...be here? And why is there a statue of him at all?_

 _What in the…_

Something crunched under Luke's boot. He lifted his foot back up, hoping it wasn't anything valuable he had stepped on. When he looked down, he saw something small, white, and now shattered into dust and splinters.

He knelt down to look closer, but couldn't quite identify what the pale thing was, or at least, used to be. He sighed, pivoted, and came face to face with a grinning skull.

The thing he had stepped on was bone.

He shrieked and sprang back. He was **out**. He burst over to the side of the ravine and scrambled up the side, slipping and flinging dirt everywhere. With some difficulty, he managed to pull himself onto the grass. He flopped down on his back, cradling his arm. Only for a moment, though, because his sense of panic soon returned, and he blindly started running away from the tainted location.

That man...could he actually be taking credit for that? And if he was, why? How? With what power? And why hadn't he killed Luke and Grayson during that encounter, or before it, or after it? Actually, what interest did he have in them in the **first** place?

He was contemplating these topics when something caught on his foot, most likely a root, and sent him sprawling downhill. He struggled to stop his tumble, but it was difficult when one moment his face was in the dirt, the next he was on his back looking at the stars with his legs sticking up in the air, then he got a fabulous view of the grass, then he was somehow sideways, then his arm got crushed beneath him and he almost screamed, then he was looking back up the hill, and then...well, you get the point. Finally, he did something like a somersault, and landed with a splash into frigid water. It took him a couple seconds to right himself, and he cradled his broken arm like it was an infant. He was on the bank of a river, with a bridge to the left of him. On his side, there was thick vegetation. On the other side, however, it was scraggy and dusty, with packed earth and hills racing as far as he could see. The contrast between the two sides was odd, amusing almost.

Luke was suddenly aware that anything from his waist down was numb. He stood up, then fell right back down into the icy water.

If there was a Goddess up there, the assassin was sure she was laughing her head off.

He crawled onto the bank carefully and sat down for a minute. He noticed his arm was swelling slightly, and realized he would need to address it, lest it get any worse. He had learned how to treat basic injuries during training, but that had been a long time ago. He racked his brain.

 _Erm...Step One: Secure._ There were (miraculously) no undead to be seen in the vicinity, so he deemed his location 'safe'.

 _Step Two: Victim. Are you panicking or experiencing shock, Luke? ...No. Oh, okay._

 _Step Three: Examine._ Luke inspected the broken limb. His arm hurt, it was sticking out at a somewhat odd angle, and it was swelling slightly, but thankfully, no bones were sticking out.

 _Step Four: Diagnose. Broken forearm. Circulation is fine. Hurts like Nether, though._

 _Step Five: ...Um… Treat._ If he remembered correctly, he had to apply cold to reduce swelling, and use a makeshift sling. But what would he use?

Somehow, he still had his waterproof pack, but he didn't have any blankets. He wouldn't use his leggings or shirt, since without them, his armor would dig into his skin and cause him more harm. And he was **pretty** sure his hat wouldn't work. He fingered his scarf. What else could—

He mentally facepalmed. His scarf!

Using his left arm, and with some difficulty, he unwound the black length of fabric from his face. Then, he got it wet in the icy water. He dried it out as best as he could, although it wasn't very effective, and spread it out flat. Using his good hand and his mouth, he tied two ends together. He put it over his neck and very, very slowly, slid his right arm into the loop, letting it rest. When he slowly stood up, it still hurt a tad, but it was immobile, and the swelling was going down. His scarf-sling was acceptable, but not as good as he'd liked it to be.

He sighed. What now? He was lucky to have gotten this far without incapacitating himself, but his arm would hinder him. He looked up the river towards a stone bridge.

Might as well. He jogged over and started to cross it. About halfway, he looked up and noticed something. Up and to the right of him, a ways away, was a mountain. It wouldn't have caught his mismatched eyes, except that at the top was a light. Light meant people. People meant food.

He made up his mind. He ran over the remainder of the bridge, stepped down on the hard earth, and set his course for the prismarine mountain.

* * *

Well, he had almost died twice. But he was up.

It was harder than he had first thought to climb a mountain with one hand. He had slipped tons, and had parkour a couple times (this part he had not trouble with.) And now he was lurking in the shadow of an archway, made of gray prismarine brick. Surprisingly, no one seemed to be home. The torches had made him think differently before, but after some time of watching and listening, there were no signs of anyone else. And if they were asleep, they would've extinguished the torches. He could only think of one conclusion; they were off on an errand or something, and they would be back.

Luke would have to make this fast.

Passing by an odd spire, he sprinted over to the first building of three. He climbed up the mound it was on and peered in a glassless window. A bed and a stool were all he could see with his night vision. He slipped through the opening. It was a small room, most likely a study of some sort. There were a couple books and quills on the window's ledge that he avoided. Even if he was infiltrating this shelter, that didn't mean he had to be inconsiderate as well.

He stole a second look at the ledge, and spotted two sovereign. Sweet! He snatched them both with greedy hands.

He slipped back out the window just to be safe. Plus, it was more fun than taking the door.

The assassin peered into the next structure. It was more like a roof and a wall, with the other two corners being supported by pillars. The length that was open looked out over the ocean, and a small waterfall cascaded down into the sea from the structure's right. Odd...he didn't see a river on the way up. Or...hear it? Luke strained his elf like ears. The falls were completely silent. That was unnerving.

There were two chests near him, next to the wall. One had an odd golden frame, which he opened first. He found: chalk. Small, glistening stones. Shards of flint with odd markings. A spool of ink-black wire. A book that seemed to be **glued** shut; no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't open it (although with one arm, he couldn't try very hard). He didn't take any of the container's odd contents.

A few glints of sunlight peaked through the bottom of the sky. Luke quickly opened the wood-and-iron chest and found...nothing.

He gritted his teeth in frustration. A few more minutes of darkness left. One room to go.

He stepped backwards and heard a _krict_ sound. After the incident in Mortem, his heart skipped a beat. He turned, but he was only stepping on some chalk markings on the ground. Nothing more.

He squinted. Those markings were very odd colors…

Luke squatted down and looked closer. The marking made a ring of purple symbols. In the center was a symbol in the shape of a C, drawn in gold chalk that could very well be made out of real gold, with another smaller, more complex yellow symbol inside it. Tentatively, he brushed his finger over one of the dusty violet runes. The chalk was super thick, and smeared all over his finger like paint. But more important than its density was its texture; smooth like water, compressing like jello, and with the overall feel of sand oversaturated with water. Like quicksand, almost.

Luke had seen these before. They were magic circles, drawn into the earth using ritual chalks, and were used in various rites and other mage-related things.

He tried rubbing the substance off his finger onto the ground, but it didn't budge. He rubbed it on his uniform; it came off, but left a bright purple smear on the black fabric. He sighed. Good thing he was fond of the color.

He got up from his froggish posture. _The sun's coming up_ , he thought hurriedly. _Time to move._

But before he could move, something stopped him. A thought so startling, it turned his blood to ice;

 _If...if there's a magic circle here, then that means...I'm...I'm infiltrating the home of..._ _ **of a MAGE?!**_

The idea was enough to make him rethink coming up here entirely. He had to get out before the mage came back. He considered simply looking at the last room, but the fight or flight instinct inside him screamed " _You idiot! Who cares if there's food in the last room, it won't do you any good if you're_ _ **dead**_ _!"_

The other instinct that he had—his hollow insides—begged to differ. Luke stood frozen, torn between two options. Food or flight?

He sighed again.

Ten seconds.

He started up some cobblestone stairs and ran into the last building. There was an altar, a bed, some refineries, and a table with...a box of puppets? No, wait; poppets. Completely different. Kinda like Voodoo dolls, only these worked. He shuddered. There was also a container with a species of lily he didn't recognize, a spinning wheel with the kind of wire he had seen before, only clear, and a dreamcatcher hung above the bed. But what annoyed him most...no food whatsoever.

Luke smacked his forehead. How did this guy **live**?! Maybe he didn't need to eat? What kind of being **was** this?

He reluctantly backtracked out of the room. He started running back to the spire and the archway that lead to the mountain pass. The hard teal stone thumped under his silver boots as he approached the exit. He skidded, turned to enter the pass, and came face to face with another pair of mismatched eyes.

Magenta and pupiless white.

For a moment, Luke couldn't move. The mage had a maroon cloak and hood on, so he couldn't see his face, but those eyes couldn't be missed. He had a backpack on, and a set of pale gloves on his hands. Parts of his clothes looked like they had been drenched in ink. He was clad in denim and faded sky blue.

Luke recognized him just as the mage summoned a bolt of pure mana. As it struck the assassin and flung him backwards, he barely registered the pain in his arm. All he could think of, as the image of the man he had shot faded into blackness, were three words;

 _I'm gonna die._


	4. Chapter 4: Discuss

The elven girl adjusted the trinket on a shelf, so it looked just right, and sighed. She liked seeing her shop organized. First impressions were everything, and she was determined to make her business seem professional, even though it was unlikely that someone would walk out just because of a misplaced trinket. Still, it was the thought that counted.

The door behind her creaked, signalling the entrance of a potential customer. Naeelrein turned. A young elf girl stood in the doorway confidently. Her long blonde hair, which was like Naeelrein's except for dyed pale pink on the ends, was up in a ponytail. She wore a simple green jacket and high boots, and bracers clutched her forearms. Her eyes were a vibrant pink, and she seemed the slightest bit familiar. She exclaimed, " _Seler', vedui'!_ " in greeting. She lacked a full accent; her syllables were choppy and didn't slide the way they were supposed to, and she stressed the vowels too much, while almost ignoring the "y"s and "n"s. She most likely wasn't from around the area. But a customer was a customer.

Naeelrein smiled warmly and nodded. " _Vedui_."

The girl looked around, grinning. Naeelrein sold clothing and miscellaneous survival gear. She made a large portion of the clothes herself, but much of the gear and a small part of the cloth was imported from larger cities. Both sold nicely, but it seemed to her that her clothing always went faster. Maybe it was just an illusion of the mind, but it made her feel good about herself; every time someone picked a local one instead of an imported one, she felt a surge of pride. Sure enough, the girl picked out clothes made by herself; a black shirt, grey pants, and a pair of leather gloves (the gloves were the only imported things). She set them on the counter. She stared at Naeelrein with large pink eyes.

Naeelrein hesitated. " _Sinta tanya these lanat naa ner alta than lle?_ " They looked way too large for the customer.

The she-elf smiled again. " _Dela lle il-! Sen amin naa givien a' y' toror'._ "

A friend? That seemed more logical. Naeelrein took ten sovereign for the clothing, which she pocketed quickly. The blonde elf grabbed her purchase and headed for the door. When she turned, her necklace, which was three gold triangles within a triangle, glinted in the torchlight. Naeelrein suddenly recognized her. " _Feitha._ "

The girl turned. " _Mani?_ " she asked, pivoting on the living wood floor.

" _I' edhel tanya tul e sinome tuulo' templa parma yamen', lle naa?_ "

She nodded. " _Weere._ " Then she turned and walked out the open doorway into the cool night air.

Naeelrein watched her leave, then shivered when a frigid gust of air invaded her shop. Winter was coming. After her last customer closed the door and stopped the cold's tirade, she considered going outside. She would look out at the mess of bridges that connected her people's treetop homes, then look up, up through the thick leaves that coated the tops of the trees, and maybe, just maybe, catch a glimpse of the tiny pinprick stars that hung above.

But she decided not to. She yawned, though not really tired, and turned to climb up a simple ladder that led to her room above.

* * *

"I'm ba-ack!" Mia exclaimed, bursting into the room with an enthusiasm entirely inappropriate for the hour. Rachel (or Rallechal, if you wanted to be formal) shot her an annoyed look and went back to weaving her bracelet. Rachel's home wasn't very large, nor was it small; a blazing fire in the center of the room bathed the hollow tree in warm light and heat. The room was strictly circular, with fur blankets near the fire, and other pieces of furniture, like chairs, bookshelves, and miscellaneous stuff, were closer to the walls. Shelves of potions lined the far side, and a brewing stand spewed steam from an unchecked potion. A smooth, sugary scent filled the area. Rallechal seemed content to let it sit, instead focusing on weaving a simple thread bracelet with tiny colored designs. Cariago was curled up in a hollow in the blankets, ears flopping and paws twitching in his sleep. He was probably dreaming up a chase. Cariago usually slept anywhere—once he had gone missing and turned up sleeping inside a drawer of Rachel's desk. But tonight he was curled up with Armen, who was half smothered in the soft furs. Under him, Armen was sleeping much like the ferlionn beside him was: fitfully. His light snores were occasionally interrupted by whimpers, or even a spell of not breathing. Mia waltzed over to Rachel and sat down, dropping the pile of fabric in front of her.

"You dallied," she stated without looking up.

Mia sighed. "I know, but it was so nice out there, and I just took a moment to look at the stars."

"It's freezing outside." She thought a moment. "I would know, because you left the door open."

Mia turned. She had. "Oops, sorry!" She exclaimed as she dashed over and slammed it shut. It was loud, but Armen slept on. Unlike Cariago, who leapt up with a yap and snapped at the closest thing that moved, which so happened to be his tail. The ferlionn whimpered, and curled up back into a ball of orange and black stripes. Mia yawned and walked back to Rachel, who was silently fuming while braiding her bracelet. She was awfully tense, probably because Mia had brought the infamous "Man From the Statues" into her home.

Awkward silence. It seemed to go on forever. Finally, Rachel stood up, finished bracelet in her hands, and went over to the brewing stand. She inspected the bottles, filled with a silvery-blue liquid, and grabbed seemingly random ingredients from her shelf. Mia was no alchemist, and had no idea what she was doing. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the sweet scent, exhaling slowly. Cariago hurried in pleasure as well. But her enjoyment was short-lived, as the scent suddenly changed into something sharp and ashy from Rachel adding a new ingredient. She sneezed as the smell hit her nose.

Armen muttered something into his blanket. Cariago snuggled on top of the blankets next to him, twitching his little black nose and swishing his fluffy tail, both beings now oblivious.

The next couple minutes were quiet; Rachel muttering to herself in concentration, jamming ingredients down the brewery's tube; Mia sitting silently in the furs, not tired; Cariago sleeping, and Armen as well.

Mia finally broke the silence. "Rallechal, what's up?"

"What's up?" She repeated. She was tense. "What's up?" She dropped a fistfull of leaves onto the table. "You brought **him**." She gestured to Armen. "I hope you do realize what could happen if he's discovered, even if he is, somehow, **innocent** , as you claim."

Mia nodded solemnly.

The brown-haired elf looked at Armen. "But still...I'm rather curious about this 'Armen'. How do you know him?"

Mia sighed and looked down at the cream and brown furs, ruffling her fingers through them absentmindedly. "Well..." _How am I supposed to explain this? Armen's not a killer, but…_ "Remember those two friends that I told you I traveled with?"

"Drake and Grayson?"

Mia nodded, the pink-dyed ends of her blonde hair falling in front of her face. "Yeah."

"What about them?"

"Before I met them, he was **their** friend. I'd heard of him, but I've never met him in person until today." _Because he was preoccupied with the genocide of thousands, according to Grayson._

Rachel, for now, was not satisfied. "But what about the statues? The man who took credit for Syrsinal put up a statue and..." She trailed off, uncertain of what to say. But Mia got the meaning; _Why? Why everything?_

Mia sighed. "That's where it gets complicated."

And she began.

"Before I met up with Drake and Grayson, they had already gone on a together quest before, along with Armen. I don't know too much about it, other than its purpose. They were hunting down...a demon."

"A demon?"

"A demon."

Rachel stuttered, confused. "T-that's not possible. You can't **hunt down** demons, minor or major."

"Well, it was more like the demon hunted down _them_."

"What was its name?" Rachel seemed nervous, yet intrigued. She sat down next to the blonde elf, signalling that she was fully interested.

"Uuuhh…" Mia murmured. _Should I say it?_ "They were a little careful with the name. It was a major demon, so...Him. They usually called it Him."

"Oh." Rachel still looked doubtful. "Continue."

"After some time they managed to make it to an old city—I forget the name—and make some kind of super-magickey-blade thingy that could make Him mortal. I think it was called the BlazeBlade, or something along those lines. And before you ask, I don't know what it was made of."

"They managed to take him down with the blade, but with a cost. Armen tackled him with the enchanted blade into lava. Herob- **He** was supposedly killed, and Armen died with him."

"Wait. Then how-"

Mia stuck her hands out in a stop motion. "Not done yet! There's more!"

"Okay, okay." Rachel seemed put off, but was still curious. Cariago stretched, yawned, and walked over to Rachel and sat in her lap.

"Grayson and Drake parted ways for a long time, but later they discovered something unsettling. Armen wasn't dead. He was using Armen as a puppet, or a vessel, I guess."

Rachel's brown eyes widened, but her face was like stone.

"After Armen jumped, Her-He entered his body and used him to continue his destruction. That's why all the statues He put up look exactly like Armen."

Rachel looked over at Armen, who was starting to fidget. Mia could only imagine what Armen had experienced during those years; trapped inside his own body, watching his own hands spill innocent blood, kill the helpless again, and again, and again, while all he really wanted was death for himself. She suddenly felt the urge to retch.

"Well, later, they managed to find each other in the Badlands, and created a quest with multiple objectives, one to help save Armen from His grip." Mia grinned friskily, despite the twisted feeling in her gut. "And that's where **I** come in! After the two stopped at an inn I was staying in, they helped me obtain an artifact, and later I tagged along with them."

"How did you get them to help?" Rachellal asked, somewhat off-topicly.

Mia smiled. "Money, obviously. They're human."

Rachellal grinned. "Greedy round-ears." But Mia knew her friend couldn't judge; she was a quarter human herself, which gave her brown hair and freckles, and a tiny hungering instinct for money. But she had the mindset and the skill of an elf, thankfully.

Mia continued. "After a while, we managed to trap Armen and tried to defeat him. But in a blunder, Drake, instead of saving him, accidentally weakened Her-Him enough that he couldn't keep Armen alive anymore. "

"Drake, in an effort to save him, accidentally kills him?"

"Yeah."

Rachel looked at Armen, who was starting to toss and turn. "Wait."

"Yeah."

"What?"

Mia could help but snicker at her friend's utter confusion. "I don't understand it either. I would've asked him before, but he seemed a little...dazed."

Rachel still looked like she was full of questions, but she kept silent, chewing on what she had heard. It must sound rather strange to her; heck, it still sounded strange to Mia. She had been with them for less than a week, and yet Grayson and Drake seemed like a part of her. Especially Grayson, whose blond hair and green eyes made her seem like he belonged with the Elves. And Drake, he seemed like a brother to her; a bit funny looking and introverted, but with a good heart and determination.

Rachel's head snapped up in alarm. "Eh?" Her eyes widened again. The smell of ash had changed into rotten fish cooked over a campfire. " **Redstone**!" She shouted as she leapt up and ran to the table. Cariago tumbled into the furs. He yawned again, opening his toothy jaw, and shambled over to Mia, flopping into her lap lazily. Mia ruffled him behind the ears and yawned herself. The horrible scent of the potions was starting to die down with the addition of Redstone. Carago started snoring. Mia was getting tired as well. Her eyes started to droop...

"Rachel?" She said sleepily.

Rachel didn't turn around. "What?"

She paused. She had forgotten what she was going to say. "Never mind."

The furs enveloped her in a warm hug. Her eyes, heavy with exhaustion, closed, and she slept soundly until morning.

* * *

A gust of cold air woke her up. She stirred, unwilling to open her eyes. Her dream had been nice, although she couldn't remember much except a slime turning into an owl…

A large **wham** attacked her ears. Her eyes snapped open and she sat up. Everything was practically the same as last night, although the brewing stand was silent, the newly brewed potions beside it on the table. Nobody was attacking (as she had half expected from the explosive slam), and Rachel was nowhere to be seen. She must've left and slammed the door behind her.

A yawn signaled that Armen was up. She turned and saw him sitting up and rubbing his eyes, his dark hair a curly mess. "Morning, Armen."

He started, having not noticed her until now. "Erm, morning."

Silence. None of them really knew what to say. Mia had never really talked to him before, face to face and while fully awake. She only really knew what Drake and Grayson had told her, and that wasn't a lot. He seemed like a nice guy, with dark, curly hair, pale skin, freckles dotting his face, and watery green-blue eyes that were full of life, but had a tinge of unquenchable sadness behind them. All in all, he looked young and innocent. "How'd you sleep?"

He looked to the side. "Not the best. You?"

"Eh, I slept alright, though I did turn in kinda late. Oh—almost forgot." She paused and picked up the bundle of cloth she had bought last night. "Here."

Armen hesitated, then took the clothes. "Thanks. But, I...don't have any money."

Mia waved her hand. "No problem, forget about it."

Armen looked up, confusion on his face. "Forget about what?"

"...The clothes."

"What?"

"The clothes."

"The whats?"

Mia was starting to get frustrated. "The clothes that are-" She then noticed the slight smirk on his face, and the mirth dancing in his eyes. "Oh, ha hah. Go change, you dork."

"Okay." He looked around the room, then back at her. "Where?"

"Um, go upstairs or, up ladders, I s'ppose."

"Got it." He stood up, wobbled a bit, then walked over to the vine and wood ladder that led upstairs. He climbed up and disappeared.

Mia pushed away the inviting furs and rose, cracking her back and yawning some more. The fire had died sometime last night, leaving smoldering embers in its place. The room was colder because of it. She found her backpack (it was hiding next to the bookshelves) and grabbed an apple. She ate it while she waited for Armen. Despite his obliviousness and seemingly nice personality, a heavy question weighed on her mind: What now? Mia had no idea where the hell he had come from; actually, it was possible that hell **was** where he'd come from. He knew next to nothing about where he was, and had been practically helpless when she'd found him. He'd cowered at Rachel, gaped at Ayremagalra (which wasn't surprising; few men had ever set eyes upon Elvish ground), and collapsed into sleep at the first opportunity, which was ironic, since Mia had been forced to carry him for, like, an hour before he woke up.

Well, one thing was for sure; he would be in danger here. As Ayremagalra was fair distance from the Empire's clutches, it was an opportune place for Mia to stay. Of the four Elven kingdoms—Resaystcden of Sun, Lortraminal of Moon, Kylosayon of Moon, and Yerensesil of Sun—Resaystcden was the only one untainted by the Empire. Yerensesil was almost entirely under the rebel Emperor's control, and was no longer safe for any self-respecting elf. Kylosayon of Moon was supposedly next, but trying to control Dark Elves was about as easy as trying to balance an arrow, fletching up, on the tip of your nose. Even so, it put Resaystcden and Lortraminal on edge, mainly Resaystcden. Resaystcden was strictly elf-only. If a human was caught inside the town...Worse, what if someone recognized him? Syrsinal, a larger city to the south, had been recently attacked (about two months ago, but for Elves, whose lives were measured by centuries instead of decades, this was not too long ago). No one had survived, not even the Chief. And in the main square, there was a statue placed that looked **exactly** like Armen. Mia hadn't known this, since she spent little time with her own kind, but now the entire kingdom of Resaystcden was on alert for this mysterious fire mage, who could be working for the Empire to destroy their haven from the inside out.

A shriek shocked her out of her thoughts, followed by loud " **Cariago**!" She snorted. Cariago must've found his way upstairs last night.

She finisher her apple and flicked away the stem. Moments later, Armen came climbing down.

The stripped ferlionn followed, skipping the ladder and landing on his feet, or...paws. Armen had kept his stash (guess he was fond of it), but held the remains of his old clothes in his arms. He tossed them—they were unusable; elves were recyclers, but those clothes were beyond help—and munched on an apple while Mia explained where they were.

"Elves?" He said, pausing between bites.

"Yep; right smack dab in the middle of them."

"I'm going to assume that they don't like humans."

"Oh, no no, they think they're fine, they just...don't want them in cities."

Armen chewed on this along with his breakfast. "I see. Then why bring me here?"

"You were in a daze, and night was falling. It would be dangerous to stay in the woods at night, with mobs about."

"Ah." He was quiet for about two seconds. "But why did Rachella...She attacked me."

Mia sighed. "She was doubtful, and tense, at first, but then she let you stay. Plus, she's currently my doctor." She smirked and drew a circle around her eyes. " **These** are not supposed to be this color."

"Huh. I thought it was just an elf thing," Armen replied. But actually, it wasn't; when the portal warped her to Resaystcden, the armor she had gotten from the Magic Library had thought it would be a **great** idea to explode into a giant cloud of sparkly pink glitter-dust. She had looked like a pixie. The worst part, aside not having an awesome suit of armor that was pink, was that a couple flecks had gotten in her eyes. Two weeks later, her eyes were 75 percent pink. She had seen Rachel at a friend's advice, but she couldn't identify what the armor had been made of, **or** why her eyes were turning colors, much less how to get them back to normal. And here she was, with eyes that, instead of shamrock green, were fuchsia pink.

"Will I cause you trouble by being here?'

Mia stammered. "Um, I'm not going to lie: probably yeah." She thought a moment. "And you might get a bit more trouble than a normal human because..."

Armen knew what she was going at. "Yeah, that might be bad."

They were quiet for a bit, not knowing what to say next. Mia was itching to ask him about what he knew and how the heck he had, y'know, supposedly came back to freaking **life**. But one look at him told her that he wouldn't tell her if she asked him. She wouldn't let the topic rest forever, though.

He tried to break the ice. "Hey, what I asked yesterday; you have no idea what happened to Drake **or** Grayson after the Library?"

"No, I haven't-" _Wait_. "How do you know about that?"

Armen's face paled the tiniest bit. "Erm…" He looked down. "I could see and hear things at times, like in the Catacombs or the Library."

"Oh," She said, then added, "Stalker."

Armen looked startled at the comment. Then, his mouth twitched into a smile, and he chuckled softly. Then, he finished off the apple and twirled the stem between his fingers plaintively. A few moments later, he looked up in alarm, as if someone had just yelled in his ear. He stood up slowly, staring at the door.

Mia was puzzled. "What are you-"

Someone pounded on the door. Cairago, who was lying down in the furs aways from them, leapt up and started yapping, full-volume, at door. Ignoring Armen's odd tenseness, she stood up, walked over to the entrance, and opened the door. An elf in a silver helmet, with a golden cloak and leaf bladed sword, stood outside. He was with two other elves, almost identical to him, who were talking amongst themselves. They noticed her and gained composure, looking very elf-like and official. Mia turned around—Armen was suddenly gone, she noticed with some alarm—and back, confused.

She raised an eyebrow. _What is the Garrison doing here?_


	5. Chapter 5: Trusting

When Luke woke up after what seemed like a minute of dreamless sleep, his head was buzzing, but he felt rested. And...warm? He shifted a bit. Yep, there was something heavy and soft under him and above him. He flailed a bit, and managed to get a blanket off his face.

He sat up. He was in a bed—simple, but comfy, nonetheless—in a room made of blue-tinted stone. It had a stool, and a large open window with-

Wait, freeze. Was he in the Mage's home? An uncertain chill crept down his spine. What? How? And why was he in a bed? His memories came back to him; the mage had creamed him with a pure mana blast. No wonder he felt odd. Still, the fact that the Mage had almost blasted him to hell, but still let him live―and most likely put him here―confused him. Luke had shot him with an arrow, hadn't he? Why was he befriending him?

With sudden realization, he moved his broken arm. It wasn't broken anymore! Although it felt a bit numb, it felt and bent like normal! Might he have healed it with magic?

He stared at the stone walls, utterly at a loss. _What?_

There was a sheet of paper and a loaf of bread sitting on the windowsill, which wasn't there when he first entered. He pushed the warm covers off reluctantly, and stood up. Or at least, tried to.

His knees wobbled and gave way, and he found himself kissing the stone floor in a rather awkward manner. He stayed there, head clouded, before slowly getting up. The effect of mana on non-mages was...weird, to say the least. He staggered like a drunkard over to the windowsill and picked up the note with shaking fingers. Written on it, in neat penmanship, was this:

 _First off, you're an idiot._ (True, that.)

 _Gone to town. Will be back by noon._

 _Don't try leaving, you'll regret it two seconds afterward. Don't try the window either._

 _Your hand is NOT HEALED. Be careful with it._

 _Bread's yours. It's not poisoned._

 _I'm keeping your hat._

 _-Drak_ e

He digested the message. Then, his free hand flew to his head. It met his violet colored hair. _That dirty- He took my penguin hat!_ Luke was emotionally attached to that thing! He'd better give it back!

His gaze shifted to the bread. He picked it up; it was smaller than the average loaf, as it fit in one hand easily. It looked normal, with a pale brown hue, but he was still wary, despite the note's reassurance. He broke it open and smelled it. A faint, comforting scent entered his nose as he inhaled. It also smelled normal. _Mmmm..._

Still he hesitated. Yeah, he was hungry, and the bread seemed normal, but this guy was a sorcerer. No doubt he could add solutions and spells to the bread that he wouldn't be able to detect. But then again...if this so-called "Drake" wanted Luke dead, he could've killed him already. So why poison him?

He took a tentative nibble of the loaf. Above all else, it tasted normal. He waited to drop dead. Nothing. After confirming that it wasn't poisoned, he wolfed the rest down eagerly.

Luke hiccuped and wiped the crumbs off his mouth. He felt a lot better after that, and the constant static that had occupied his mind when he woke up was starting to fade. He reread the note and looked out at the sun. Almost fifteen. The mage was late.

He looked at the border around the window. It was carved out of the rock in a neat square. Curiosity seized him, and he wondered what would happen if he tried to crawl out. The mage had warned him not to try it―quite possibly just to keep him from leaving. But, Drake had been right about the loaf. He probably was telling the truth about this. He was still intrigued, though, as to what would happen.

He scanned the border again, this time with a critical eye that he had been trained to use. In the upper right corner, there were little ripples of magenta color, like the bottom of a riverbed on a sunny day. Drake must've placed a repulsive shield around the room. Smart. But looking back at the floor, he didn't see any chalk markings. The shield needed a power source. Where were the runes? He squatted down (a surprisingly difficult task to do without toppling over) and checked under the bed. Besides a few dust bunnies, nothing. No marks on the walls, or even on the ceiling. Curious.

Another thing he wondered about was the shield's strength. Just like you could judge a person by their weapon-of-choice, you could tell a lot about a mage by the wards they use and the brews they make. He shakily picked up a loose stone, about the size of his palm, from the floor. He turned to the deceivingly open window. What would happen? With the fluid motion of skipping a stone across water, he flicked the pebble into the opening.

It froze in mid air. Luke froze too, waiting for something to happen. But it just sat there like the rock it was. He sighed (he had half expected an explosion, to be honest) and reached to grab it.

And the shield chose that moment to fire the stone back at him.

It was a perfect David-and-Goliath shot. It whacked him right in the forehead, sending curses flying from his mouth. It hurt like the Nether, and would probably give him a nasty bruise. He rubbed his brow and looked at the door. It would probably do the same thing. But where was the power source?

He sat back down on the bed. Drake was an Ender mage. It explained how he did telekinesis and shields, and why he had one violet eye. How Luke had managed to raid the one building that had the mage who he had almost murdered, he could only imagine. He worked his jaw. He was an idiot. Why Drake had kept him alive, he didn't know, but by the looks of it, he wasn't going to let him go any time soon.

The fact that Drake hadn't killed him should've given him some hope, but it actually made him feel worse. He hated the feeling of powerlessness, and having a plan seemed to keep him in control. But now, he had no idea what was going to happen next. Would Drake let him go, or keep him here? Would he question him, perhaps? Try and find out more?...Get even? Luke shuddered at the thought of what he would do. Mages were capable of strange things…

There wasn't much left to do except to sit, wait, and dread.

* * *

The mage came sometime later.

Luke heard him approaching first; not his footsteps, but his voice. It sounded like he was talking to someone. It was extremely low. His footsteps followed a few moments later.

Luke was in a cold sweat. Would he be mad, or merciful? Before he could pray to the Goddess for luck, the door swung open.

Luke had always considered himself tall, but this guy was the definition of lanky. His legs and arms were slightly out-of-proportion, and his head almost hit the doorframe when he came in. His jeans and blue t-shirt had sickly black patches on them. He wore a maroon cloak, and now that the hood was down, Luke got his first clear look at his face: brown-haired, messily shaven, with an eyepatch over his left eye. But on the other side, his skin was dark and leathery, and his hair black and shiny, like threads of ink. His right ear was pointed and long. His uncovered eye was magenta with a slit pupil, and it dialated when he saw Luke. He suppressed a shudder, the single eye seeming to pierce into his soul.

Drake walked in, looking surprised, but determined. "Good, you're still here."

Luke raised an eyebrow. _Like I could go anywhere?_

The mage set down his backpack in the corner of the room and groped for something. "I suppose you'll want this." He pulled out a piece of black fabric and tossed it at Luke, who caught it. It was his hat, with a sewn orange beak and beady eyes. He put it on without hesitation. It sounded silly, but he always felt safer with it on. He was a foreigner to these lands, and his hat was one of the only things he had from his old life. Plus, it did a good job of covering his odd hair color.

Drake smirked for half a moment, then turned serious. "What's your name?"

Bearing in mind that this was a man he had almost murdered that may very well still be mad at him and was a mage that could do unworldly things to him, he replied, "Luke."

"Where are you from?"

"The Eastern Empire."

"How did you get up here, and what did you take?"

Luke thought for a second. It wouldn't hurt to tell him, would it? "I climbed the pass, and two sovereign."

Drake looked sceptical. "That's it?"

Luke shook his head. "I didn't find anything else of value."

A flash of realization swiped across Drake's face. "Where's the Egg?"

The Egg?...Oh, yeah. It's been so long that I almost forgot what my original mission was. Huh. "I don't know."

Next thing he knew, the floor plummeted from under his feet, and his head smashed into the rock ceiling. Then, he fell faster than gravity could've allowed and slammed into the ground.

"Where's the Egg?"

Luke groaned.

"Where is the Egg?!"

"I-I don't know, I lost track of it!"

Weightlessness filled his limbs. With Telekinesis, Drake levitated Luke, flipped him belly up, and brought him so close that his hot breath ruffled Luke's violet hair.

Luke held back a cough. _Mutton._

"...Are you sure?"

The sheer coldness of his voice was enough to make Luke's breath hitch. He nodded, terrified for his life. The mage studied him, obviously trying to sort out lies from truth. When truth was all he found, he released the spell and dropped him.

Luke lay there like a dead thing. Thank Notch he didn't try to Drill into his mind; Luke hated that with a passion. It was a last resort for most mages, since they would be in danger as well. Thankfully, Drake didn't seem to think Luke was worth the risk.

Drake asked him a handful of other questions, mainly involving the Eastern Empire and his first task of retrieving the Dragon Egg. Luke answered honestly—he wasn't one to lie to a magician— to all the questions, including the fact that he had practically given up on finding the former Commander. After tracking them to the river, he had taken shelter in the Empire camp, but couldn't cross the lake (he was an awful swimmer, but he didn't mention that). By the time he had found a part shallow enough to cross, they were gone.

Drake absorbed every drop of information like a sponge. When Luke finished his rant, he was mentally slapping himself, but he had a clear conscience for not lying. Drake watched him, started to ask another question, then stopped. "Look, you're probably wondering why I'm letting you live."

Luke waited. "..."

"Honestly, I don't know myself. You obviously remember that night on the riverbank, your eyes give it away."

Luke blinked and slowly stood up. Either this guy was extremely perceptive, or Luke was doing an awful job of hiding his fight or flight instinct.

"Yeah, that's the look," Drake said. He turned on heel and looked out the door for a bit. Then, he turned back and chucked something at Luke that wasn't in his hands a moment earlier. "I...I don't want any trouble."

Luke caught his satchel. It was a bit bulkier than before. He looked at Drake quizzingly.

"I want you to leave, and never come back."

Luke couldn't believe his pointed ears. _Leave? Trouble? Live?_

Drake watched him for a reaction. Luke remained silent, confused. Both stared with mismatched eyes, trying to figure out what made the other one tick, to no avail. Finally, Drake snapped his fingers. The iridescent shield around the room flashed bright, so that it was impossible to see out the window, then vanished. Luke knew that the shield was gone permanently.

Drake sidestepped away from the door. "Go."

Luke didn't move, terrified

"NOW."

Maybe it was his imagination, but at that moment, Drake's voice echoed menacingly, like with thaumaturgy. It reverberated in his ears and rattled his brain. Without really thinking, he stumbled backwards and walked straight out of the window, instead of the door like he was expected to. It seemed a longer way down than up, and his heart had skipped a couple by the time he hit the ground.

When he regained his wits, he stood up, bolted away, shouldered his pack, exited the archway, and got as far away as he could from Drake.

* * *

" **No, no, and no.** " The enderman was on the brink of frustration. " **That is not even a possibility.** "

" **But it is the only logical course of action.** " Malcroxen hurred. " **Unless we alert him to the predicament he is consenting hisself to-** "

" **He is human.** "

" **He's my BROTHER!** " Jaidzem shrieked, baring his black fangs in apparent displeasure with his elder.

For a moment, it looked like a fight might've broken out. Two of the three pairs of endermen eyes were glinting red, with Malcroxen in the middle. After a slight moment of panic, he calmed the two down.

" **Peace. This is not the time for conflict amongst ourselves. Peace.** "

Jaidzem shuddered, breathed deeply twice, and closed his eyes. Velmerok, the largest of the three, said nothing. The mediator, happy that it had not come to blows, continued. " **We must wait. Shautgor is a sprightly youth, but broad in the ways of the mind. Either he will notice it, or in time, someone else will sense it and alert him to his plight. To show him now would reveal ourselves and break ancient law. For now, we must wait.** "

The two endermen accepted this, Jaidzem rather grudgingly. Malcroxen didn't blame him; he knew how it felt to be so close, yet so far.

Velmerok teleported away with purple particles and a hollow vvvvyp. Jaidzem waited a moment, shot his friend a venomous stare, and warped as well, leaving Malcroxen to his thoughts.

The End was inhospitable to any other forms of life. A large island of pale, rugged End stone and tall, crude pillars of obsidian floating in the depths of the Void, it wasn't for everyone. But for those who didn't mind the chill atmosphere, and could travel the hard stone ground with ease, and would climb the mountains of hardened igneous rock, and found beauty in the tiny glittering stars floating in the dark expanse of space, and just sat and thought and listened to the sound of silence in an effort to escape from this world into somewhere else, there was no better place in the world to be than here.

Right now, only Malcroxen occupied the island. There once was a time where endermen lived here in large hauntings, but now, most were scattered across the Overworld, and only came here in times of danger or assembly. And there were once more terrible creatures occupying the Void: Ender dragons, with their terrible claws and destructive magic that even endermen failed to comprehend. Once, they had ruled the End. No more.

Malcroxen snorted and shook his head. He was getting off track. He should be somewhere.

Malcroxen closed his pearly, violet eyes with a snick. He cleared his mind of all thoughts. Then, he thought hard. Thought hard of the abandoned cavern where the Ender Crystal had been found.

Then, the feeling of weightlessness, of being everywhere, and yet nowhere.

When his eyes opened, the End was nowhere to be seen. He was standing in a cavern, the opening to the volcano hundreds of feet above his head. Snow drifted softly down, and wood, cooled obsidian, and other assorted materials littered the area. But despite how tall the area was, it was much, much longer, so long that even Malcroxen's heightened vision couldn't make it past the debris and see the end of the mountain. Around the expanse were several hauntings of endermen. All were digging, moving, cleaning, and extracting with magic and telekinesis. The chief prize had already been removed and taken to a safer place (Malcroxen didn't know where). Malcroxen singled out a smaller group that was lifting huge chunks of stone and volcanic rock and tossing them aside, and warped over to join them.

He started using magic on some of the rocks. Kinesis based magic was never his strong suit, and he had trouble moving some of the larger stones. It put strain on his arms that shouldn't have been there, and he wobbled a tiny bit. Still, he wasn't about to put himself above these hardworking endermen and just watch.

" **Greetings, companion.** "

Malcroxen was a bit startled when one of the endermen spoke to him. The rock he was working on wobbled, and it fell with a thud. Thank goodness it was only a few feet off the ground. A much younger endermen was addressing him, with ears sticking up in a perky expression. " **Heheh. Smooth.** "

" **Mind your tongue,** " Malcroxen warned. " **Not everyone has the kinetic abilities that you might.** "

The youth rolled his eyes. " **I don't. But I thought that an elder like you would have better control over a lifeless rock.** "

Despite the slight sarcastic attitude, Malcroxen chuckled. " **Well, kinesis was never my strong point. What is your name, insolent?** "

" **Kadroshen,** " he replied, starting to lift another chunk of stone. " **I am Kadroshen.** "

" **Very, well, Kadroshen. Where is your brother?** "

Kadroshen pointed to the other end of the cavern with long fingers. " **There. He's working with the more...fragile objects. Artifacts that survived the collapse.** "

Malcroxen chuckled. " **That is probably where I should be.** "

" **Where's your brother?** "

Malcroxen looked to the side, not answering. His enderpearl, nestled deep within his ribcage, started to pulse with a hollow feeling. Kadroshen saw the look that must've plastered his face, because he understood. " **I'm sorry.** "

" **Don't apologize. It is not your fault, and the past cannot reverse itself.** " Malcroxen hurried the conversation onto a new topic. " **Why have I never seen you before? It is not often that I find an unfamiliar face.** "

" **Maybe it's just chance,** " Kadroshen said. " **I don't spend much time in the End―but who does?―and am usually scavenging in ruins; y'know, scouting.** "

" **Ah, a scout,** " Malcroxen confirmed, lifting up a slab of his own. " **But, it seems there might be more than that...Have you come into contact with humans before?** "

Kadroshen gave him a look that could kill. " **Are you suggesting treachery?** "

" **No, of course not, it's just that you remind me of someone.** "

Kadroshen snorted softly. " **Him?** " he asked just as quietly.

" **Erm, well.** "

Kadroshen snorted again. " **If you are talking about who I think you are...Was he significant to you?** "

" **Not...entirely.** " Malcroxen said. " **I knew him, but that was a long time ago. You can't be old enough to remember, can you?** "

" **Nope. But who is?** "

" **Only three of us. Jaidzem, Velmerok, Malcroxen.** "

Kadroshen froze, as did the rock in midair. He looked at his elder, his naturally wide eyes even wider. Malcroxen was one of the eldest endermen still aiding the Dragons. Kadroshen, by his tone and lack of scars, couldn't have been from any generation except the last one the Dragons created before they went (almost) completely extinct. That made Malcroxen older by many, many generations.

Malcroxen chuckled and went back to levitating. Kadroshen chuckled too, but in a more nervous matter, probably regretting half the stuff that he had just assumed about this guy.

" **Okay, then.** " Comfortable silence ensued. Five more rocks were moved by the two of them. The cavern was filled with the sound of scraping, magical hmmmms, and warping sounds. But the space soaked up all the sound like a sponge, and left behind a hollow silence.

Kadroshen was working on his fourth when an enderman teleported directly behind him. He uttered a spine-rattling shriek and released the slab. Unlike Malcroxen's drop, Kadroshen's rock was at least twenty feet up; it fell with a thundering wham.

Kadroshen and Malcroxen whipped around, half ready to fight, half ready to run. But the enderman made swift eye contact and looked down. Kadroshen released his stance and growled, " **Jevmerik!** "

The similarity was uncanny...Actually, all endermen resemblence was uncanny. Tall, black, lanky, long-limbed, pointy-eared, magenta-eyed endermen. Very, very similar. There were only three ways to tell one from another: Scars, life-force identification, and attaching a collar with a nametag on it. Good luck doing that last one.

This so-called Jevmerik hurred regretlessly.

Malcroxen had the oddest urge to chuckle, snarl, and sigh at the same time. But if he had tried that, it would've sounded like a big hullaballoo of a sound. So he held his tongue.

Jevermerik shambled over to Kadroshen and muttered something in his ear. Malcroxen easily could've overheard, but he was polite and kept out of their business. Apparently it was important, because Kadroshen followed him over to the other side of the cavern. Kadroshen looked back, making eye contact, and winked like they were old pals. Then, he followed behind his brother.

Usually, eye contact between endermen was a display of power, or a sign of complete defiance. But when he did it, it was more like a reassurance, or perhaps a "see you later". Malcroxen let it slide.


	6. Chapter ?: RESTART and a Treat

**Hey, guys. Yup, it's me. I've got a quick message for you.**

 **You're interested in this story. If you weren't, you wouldn't have read this far. The fact that people are reading it fills me with determination. That's why I'm going to tell you this before it happens.**

 **I'm deleting this story.**

 **No don't get the wrong idea. Yeah, I like writing it, but I have a couple problems; the storyline is sloppy, dialogue is rushed, and I feel like I could do better with this story. The Haunted is not to be taken lightly, after all.**

 **To tide you over, here is a sneek peak of what the next chapter would've been.**

 **To the very few but important people whom it may concern; I'm trying again. I WILL reboot this story, and it should (hopefully) be better planned than the other one.**

 **Thanks. If you have any suggestions or ideas for the fresh start, please tell me.**

 **The new story is called "Lingering Ghosts", and will be out sooner than later.**

 **See you in the next one.**

 **-Kyro**

* * *

In Emmit's opinion, the Emperor was a cross-breed of a serpent, a chocobo, and a cougar.

Well, the whole "Emperor" title depended on your opinion. You could call him "Emperor", "Lord", "Tyrant", "Savior", "Savage", or whatever takes your fancy. Emmit called him "Emperor, sire" because that was, simply put, who he was. He had taken over the crown, was head of the monarchy, and ruled his land with a fair hand and an iron fist. So yes, he was Emperor.

For the whole cross breed thing, you'd need some more description; The Emperor was slight of build, yet prideful and predatory in his movements. He had blond hair, like feathers dunked in liquid gold, and sharp pearly eyes embedded with ruby irises. His voice was mesmerizing and smooth, but had its fair share of snap and bite. He was cunning, resourceful, and strangely understanding, in an almost terrifying way.

As your enemy, he could and most certainly would bring about your undoing. As your friend, however…

There was no greater ally.

Emmit never underestimated him, from the moment he had stepped through his threshold and into his service. He was his trusted advisor, his go-to, possibly even a friend, if you considered it a certain way. He had rescued Emmit from a cruel fate with a demon-possessed man. When the men saw the strange engineering skills that he had (they had called it magic, despite Emmit's contradictions), they

Emmit did stay a while. He built. He advised. He learned. Because they didn't have magic in the realm that he had come from, everything mana-related intrigued him, even if he couldn't use it himself. Most of his time he spent in records, reading about strange lands and creatures, and making his own books and documentations as well. He had created quite the collection of journals, taking scraps and bits of information and binding them together into one complete work, when otherwise the information on its own would've been useless.

The Magi and scholars greatly appreciated his works (as well as the occasional adventurer who needed a tip on battling a legendary beast), but the Emperor was most pleased about his contributions to mechanics and weaponry. He knew how to improve the reach of their catapults, the strength of their swords, the flight of their arrows. The ruler was, put simply, proud of him. And that was saying something.

Emmit was working on with a new tidbit of information—apparently Manticores use their scorpion-like tail not only to shoot barbs, but to sting and to paralyze and numb victims who are in pain, so they won't struggle—when he got a requested audience from the Emperor. As much as he favored the guy, he had terrible timing.

The throne room had originally been decorated with tapestries, carpets, and other luxuries, but two-thirds of them had been removed for other purposes. It had belonged to the former Emperor of the West, who had been forced out and regrouped in an unknown location. But he wasn't a threat now, at least from what they could tell.

The Emperor was sitting as he always was, cross legged on his throne, reading something official looking with an intrigued expression. His eyes were half lidded, but Emmit could see them glinting red from thirty feet away. He muttered very quietly to himself, and his brow furrowed.

Emmit waited silently for a minute, then cleared his throat.

He turned from the letter, gave him an unreadable expression, and stood up. It was like this for every audience; if it was an ally, he stood with them, both literally and symbolically. If it was an enemy, they knelt before him. He smiled and stowed the letter away in a pocket. "I see you have finally emerged. I was worried that you would one day wander into your archives and never come out."

Subtle teasing. "Thank you for saving me from my wordy doom, Emperor. What is the matter?"

The youth started forward. His attire was plainer than a king's, but with subtle hints at power. The brown boots and leggings lacking wear and the signet ring. The white fur trim on his gold tunic. The sweeping ruby cloak sweeping behind him and accenting his sharp eyes. The wide silver and gold circlet around his forehead, signifying his importance and authority. And the way he prowled forward with confidence of a predator; if you had any sense at all, you would retreat before those strides.

"Matter? No, if something were the matter, you wouldn't be the only one I would ask for." He reached Emmit. Even though he was a bit shorter, he seemed to loom like a shadow. "I simply wanted to alert you to something."

"Very well, Emperor sire."

"Please, you don't need to call me that. It sounds funny. Atheer is fine." He walked past Emmit and motioned for him to follow. "Come."

Emmit did, his green eyes gleaming with curiosity. He followed him (surprisingly) all the way to the other side of the palace. Miscellaneous magi motioned to them as they passed by. One of them, with a blue hooded cloak and steaming gold eyes, stared as they approached. The mage nodded, and his Highness nodded back. Wordlessly, he lead them deeper yet deeper into the bookshelves, desks, and things that Emmit neither understood nor touched. Finally, they came to an altar of sorts; it resembled an enchantment table (which had existed in his universe, along with a very constricted potion variety), but with a huge red, blue, and golden crystal levitating where the book should be. The four gemstones embedded in the corners were vibrant green, and the cloth in the center was violet with orange runes lining the edges.

The mage stood off to the side. The Emperor stood over the table, with Emmit close beside him. "I assume you are acquainted with Malcius."

The name sent shivers up Emmit's spine. Malcius was an artificial Ender hybrid created by fusing an enderpearl to his lifeforce. The Emperor tended to treat him somewhat like an exotic pet, or a token achieved through great trials, which he was; he was their first—and only—success at an Ender-based transplant. Still, Malcius was strange, and considered mad by some, constantly changing the subject or talking to himself like it was a different person. But all that was forgotten in battle.

"Yes, he was sent off on a mission to track a potential magi about two months ago. What about it?"

"Unknown to you and many others, his mission's target was more...avant garde than we had first thought." He tapped the orb lightly, and it started glowing and spinning, accelerating by the second. "At first, we had thought he had obtained dragon-type artifacts, but upon further observation-" The orb was now a swirling mass of color. Slowly, but surely, the colors sorted themselves out, resembling a slightly amalgamated monochrome image of a human, with white skin on one side of his body and black scales on the other.

It hit him.

"W-what? How?!"

"That is why I needed you," he purred. "This is clearly unnatural. Of course, all Ender-related things can be classified as "unnatural". Malcius checked his lifeforce for divisions, but it was seamless, in almost perfect unison with his own self."

Emmit's mind buzzed. "A seamless lifeforce...must've threaded together flawlessly...obviously not by us, the Republic?...no, not that advanced...Did he manage to Drill?"

"No, the hybrid is unaware of his presence. Malcius is very good at cloaking himself."

"Hybrid? Endermen don't reproduce the same way we do...ugh, did he do it himself? How would he have stabilized his own mana...Did he appear sane?"

"Very much so, although he did talk to himself a little, nothing drastic. If you'd like, I could simply give you a full report from Malcius, complete with mana footprints and diagnostics."

"Yes, yes that would be great," Emmit muttered, his mind elsewhere. "Complete and total awareness...have to do a full check...god, so many questions! Who else is working on it?"

"A handful of magi, no one else. Something else; he has traces of the Dragon Egg on his Core."

"Traces of...was it from contact with it, or residual core magic, or, uh, just- NGAAAAAH!"

The mage, who had been silently watching from a distance, jumped. Atheer simply smirked. "A worthy challenge for you, eh? I trust that, with the right information, you'll be able to figure this one out." He motioned to the mage, who had recovered, and he brought out a small stack of papers, almost like a case file. "A full report, plus some other tidbits. This-" he gestured to the man offhandedly. "-is Argon. He will get you any materials or assistance you need. Although don't expect to get much out of him. He's not one for discussion."

Argon did not react.

"Good day, Sir Fusion." The ruler turned to leave. "Oh, I almost forgot. His lifeline, when we looked a bit closer, appeared to be...tampered with. We may be dealing with more than one power here."

And with that terrifying notion, he disappeared into the shelves.

Emmit stood there for a bit, then shifted through the papers. It was very organized, with various sketches, diagrams, and notes placed for his convenience. It was so much, but...could even this solve anything?

There was no other way to say it. Emmit was excited. He had never gotten this strange a case before. An Enderman hybrid should, technically, be impossible. And a pearl transplant was extremely difficult (Malcius was evidence and then some of that). Complete and total sanity, healthy, stable in his magic, and possibly being tampered with in his soul?

Argon waited patiently. Emmit's eyes gleamed maliciously underneath his mess of black hair.

This should be interesting.


End file.
